


The Art of Seduction

by Luluthechoosingcrow



Category: Greta Van Fleet (Band)
Genre: Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Magical Realism, Naughty Pictures, Rough Kissing, Sibling Incest, This is dirty, Voyeurism, foreshadowed foursome, making it clear that they don't have sex yet but they are going to, sam is like a succubus or some shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luluthechoosingcrow/pseuds/Luluthechoosingcrow
Summary: ”They were locked into a vortex of concentrated and strained arousal, in more ways than one (Jake was breathing hard). As happenstance had it, there was nowhere to go but closer to each other; Jake being dragged against his little minx of a brother with no power to pull away. He didn’t want to.“ -- Sam seduces.
Relationships: Jake Kiszka/Josh Kiszka/Sam Kiszka/Danny Wagner, Jake Kiszka/Sam Kiszka
Kudos: 8





	The Art of Seduction

**Author's Note:**

> Holy hell I wrote (the into to) another foursome.... tada?

There it was. The photograph they'd all heard about and passed off as just a random rumor from people trying to start shit. But, it was in their hands now, staring them right in the eyes.

Sammy -- little brother, best friend, innocent puppy (though they knew he wasn't, and, well, this kind of proved that).

Sammy, with his pink lips suctioned tight around the head of a thick cock. 

Sammy, with those perfect cheekbones protruding from his hollowed cheeks. Head bordered by some man's thighs, hair flowing down his back, hands clutching at tender stones unseen by the camera. His eyes sparkled with mischief and recognition; of how hot he was, how good he was, who would see this.

Jake coughed, shifted. He didn't know what to say or do, but his dick was certainly not having a blood shortage

"I didn't know Sam was bisexual," Danny said, anything to fill the air that was tense and heavy with arousal. 

"Never seemed like a good time to tell you."

They all looked up, with the expressions of mortals seeing a god's true form in their last moments on Earth. Maybe Sam was a god. He was wrapped in what appeared to be a Japanese silk robe and nothing else, the cloth swaying gently around his tan thighs and slipping off of a finely boned shoulder. 

Sam leaned on the doorjamb to the kitchen, surveying his bandmates, his family. He stood upright and took a small step forward, barely holding back his laugh when the other three backed away just the slightest at his approach. 

"I thought that, just maybe, a visual message would work better. It looks like it did," Sam said, eyeing the erection in Jake's pants. 

His brother gulped, staring Sam straight on. It was as expected: if anyone was up to the challenge, it would be Jacob. 

Sam stalked even closer, backing Jake up until his back nearly slammed into a cabinet before he caught himself. They eyed each other, Jake with lust and fear, Sam with near-evil satisfaction. 

No one said the gods were kind. 

The photograph drifted to the floor from in between Jake’s fingers. Jake ignored it, reaching out a hand, slowly, cautiously, putting it on Sam's chest, completely over the silk. Sam encouraged him with hooded eyes and a slow nod, coming even closer. 

They were locked into a vortex of concentrated and strained arousal, in more ways than one (Jake was breathing hard). As happenstance had it, there was nowhere to go but closer to each other; Jake being dragged against his little minx of a brother with no power to pull away. He didn’t want to. 

A gasp sounded behind them when their mouths met with an audible clack. Throaty, shocked, disbelieving and guilty -- Danny. Sam snarled against Jake’s mouth and crowded impossibly closer, a hand holding his brother by the jaw until the wooden ridges of the cabinet dug into the back of his skull. 

Sam’s mouth invaded like the French, pillaged like the Norse, and sucked like the English. He was rough. His teeth nipped until Jake’s mouth was letting blood and then Sam drank it back up, gargled, delivered it on a wad of spit that made Jake gag. 

But he didn’t pull away; if anything his older brother moaned louder and clutched harder, hands like a clawing vice on Sam’s shoulders. It encouraged Sam on more and his other hand, particularly strong from snapping strings and jerking ‘things’, grabbed at Jake’s ass. His fingers dug in, hard, and followed when Jake tried to squirm away from the pain. 

“No.”

It was a single word, breathed into Jake’s ear by an ever-raspy voice, that brought everything to a stand still. He pulled back and stared up at his little brother with bloody lips and twitching eyelids.

Sam’s face was wet, smeared with saliva and crimson. He was breathing hard, but he didn’t seem ruffled in the slightest; Sam kept his eyes locked with Jake’s and his expression collected. But, underneath the pretty face, there was a burning hunger that seared Jake from the inside out when he looked at it. 

Jake gulped, scratchy, and tried to find his voice. “No?”

Sam’s grin sent chills down his spine, and Josh and Danny - who Jake had forgotten were still there - made noises like they could see the terror in his eyes behind Sam’s lank frame. 

“No.” Spit dripped down his ear when Sam leaned back into him, still holding his head in place by the jaw. “You’re not running away. You’ve been wanting this? Now you’ll get it. All of you.” Sam straightened up and suddenly his voice was booming. “You all want this. Go to my room.”

There was no debate. Who could have (seriously) guessed that Sam would be the rough and commanding type? Some more introspection - earlier, before this - could have figured that out, but there was nothing to do now. Except walk. Invisible hands pushed and prodded drummer and vocalist along. 

Danny gave one more searching look into the corner of the room where his bandmates were still locked in a tumultuous embrace, then followed Josh down the hall to Sam’s bedroom; waiting for him to come and do whatever it was he thought they wanted. He adjusted his pants and sat down. Waiting.

Sam turned back to Jake. He released his grip on his jaw, trailing one finger over Jake’s lips then stepping back. The cold air that washed over his body was like a punch to the head and Jake staggered where he was slumped, dizzy. His heart was pounding and the taste of blood in his mouth only reminded him of the rest of his system; thrumming down below, pulsating and reaching out for Sam’s burning touch already. 

“Come on, then.”   


  
If the cease of contact was a punch to the head, Sam’s voice - normal, lilting, almost innocent - was an iron boot driven straight into his libido; it turned him on. Maybe he was fucked up that way. But the cold, analyzing, careless treatment of himself was too enticing and dangerously hot in a way that Jake couldn’t describe. All he knew was that, whether he _should_ like this or not, he did. 

He picked himself up off the wall and followed Sam’s swaggering form through the house. Unbeknownst to him, the photograph, picked up on a breeze from a closed window, floated along after them. The eyes of paper Sam never left Jake’s back, no matter how the polaroid turned in the air. 

Floorboards creaked under his foot and lamps seemed to sway towards them wildly -- a warning? A go-ahead? 

Sam had magic fingers (and eyes). He could call things, _ people, _ to him in the blink of an eye, whether it be electrical currents of his own brothers. Jake felt like a ring wrapped around Sam’s pinky.

Sam reached the doorway and turned back to look at Jacob following him like an obedient servant. He raised a hand and turned his wrist; Jake’s guts twisted in the most deliciously painful way. The photograph fluttered to the floor. Inside the room, Josh moaned like he was startled to hear himself do it. 

  
Magic fingers. Magic brother.  _ Magic sex. _


End file.
